Deal
by Bored.Easy
Summary: You made a deal with the devil? Well, so have I. Slash.
1. Meeting

**I don't own South Park. **

**This'll probably be Dristophe, for anybody who cares. I'm planning on continuing anyway, but reviews would be nice.**

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The quiet is unnatural. Of this he is certain of, because until literally seconds ago, his ears were ringing with noise; with screams, with threats, with battle cries. Now all he can hear is his own overly fast breathing. Fighting makes his head rush, most of the time in a good way.

Warily clutching his shovel as he hefts it over his shoulder incase of an attack, he turns in a circle, slowly. Making sure to take in every detail he can, he wonders if anyone else is aware. Or are they all frozen?

Too still bodys meet his eyes, it's like he has paused a movie, stopping it to look at a humorous scene. He's pretty sure that that's exactly what happened here.

Finding everyone but himself unresponsive only adds to the paranoid thoughts of someone watching him. He's fairly sure he's right, he's been feeling eyes on him for ages, they're probably invisible. Fucking supernaturals. Fucking _unnaturals_. He shivers, unnerved.

The smell of sulphur is overpowering. This, at least, tells him that it's definitely supernatural. It's demonic, as a matter of fact. He suspicious though, demons are too weak for anything of this magnitude.

A patch of black in the corner of his eye has him spinning to face his maybe-watcher, maybe-attacker.

"Greetings, mortal."

The voice is low, almost theatrically so. Almost a growl, actually. It would be funny if the owner of it hadn't just stopped time, or something that imitates it.

The rest of his looks define his first thoughts, though: theatrical.

Relatively long deep black hair, reaching shoulders covered in a correspondingly coloured shirt. It looks too big and the arms cover dead-pale fingers, one of which is is wearing a ring with a skull on it. The same dead-pale skin forms a face, which surrounds maleavent crimson eyes, leading down to dark lips pulled up in a smirk, followed by a vulnerable neck clasped in a dark collar. Tight black jeans, held up by a blood red belt with another skull on the buckle and matching red boots complete him.

Over the top, in his opinion. Especially for a kid who looks to be around his age.

He snorts, "Bonjour, freak."

He tightens his grip, ready to swing his shovel when the need arises. He knows how little you can judge a book by it's cover and the boy in front of him is surely a demon.

"Now, now, Christophe," He's been watched longer than he'd thought, if his name is already known. "No need to be _mean_."

"So you know my name?" Still watching, he makes sure not to take his eyes off him. "I'm afraid you 'ave me at a disadvantage."

He's grinning expectantly. Bracing himself for what will probably be bad news, he waits the pause out.

"Damian, Son of Satan. Anti-Christ." He says the last almost proudly, the T coming out sharp, while mockingly bowing.

Well. That was a little higher up than he'd been hoping for. He should have expected it though, not just any demon can _stop time_.

He can handle it, and if not? He's had a good life, he supposes.

The strangled sigh he lets out is unexpectedly loud in the stillness.

Looking like he's being entertained immensely, Damian walks forward.

"You're probably wondering why I want to talk to you, right?" Not really, he was more thinking about how to get out of this alive and unhurt.

"Not really." He's never been a liar when it doesn't suit him.

Continuing to grin, seeming more amused than before, if possible, Damian claps his hands. He holds back a flinch at such a loud sound, but keeps his eyes stuck to the incoming antichrist moving towards him. The weight of his shovel is a comfort, at least he'll go down fighting.

"I'm here to make you an offer, Christophe." Finally stopping, there are only a few inches of space between them. He's not going to back away first. He tilts his chin, Damian shows more teeth in response.

"Oh?" Sounding faintly interested, he regards the boy calculatingly. He's close enough to hurt with the shovel but he's unsure if that will actually do anything besides anger him. Deciding to see where this is going, he relaxes slightly.

"Yup!" Again, the end of the word is sharp. "See, there are a few people I'd like to disappear..."

The sentence trails off suggestively. He isn't an idiot.

"And you want me to do it?" He purses his lips, wishing for a cigarette.

"I heard you were the go to person with these kind of requests." He sounds positively wicked and the way he eyes you screams challenge and mockery.

"It depends if I find it interesting enough." Becoming bored with this, he wonders who would have told the antichrist about him. He has killed plenty of people, most of them corrupt enough for hell. So maybe that?

Red eyes narrowed dangerously at the tone, and the teeth seem sharper.

"Me being what I am doesn't make it interesting?" The voice is still too dramatic, but it sounds threatening, now.

He scoffs, "Please, I've been employed by demons before, you're nothing new."

Strangely enough, this is what brings back the amusement. Violent mood swings, he's probably unstable. He sneers at the obvious weakness.

"Ah, but I'm not just any demon. Am I, Christophe?" Damian leans forward, almost touching chests and he tenses, ready to swing.

"I suppose not." The concession come out annoyed, which causes the antichrist to laugh.

"So, you'll do it." Damian straightens up, sounding far too certain for his liking.

"I'll listen to your offer and then we _may_ discuss payment." He harshly responds.

The antichrist pauses. "You really shouldn't try my patience."

"Alright. Will it be enough if I give you names and probably places that they'll be?"

Slightly unnerved at the sudden change in demeanor, he shakes the odd feeling off.

Deciding to treat him like any other client, Christophe answers, "Oui, that and descriptions, of course. Including any probable powers, even if they are only speculation." It's best to overestimate than underestimate, he knows.

Damian nods, "Alright, I can have files made up of that. Will we talk payment?"

"First, I'll need a number of how many you think I will have to kill."

"Around 23? Maybe 25. I'll know for sure tonight." The eyes brighten, the red intensifying. Even the grin widens to almost monstrous proportions. Looks like someone's going to be in a lot of pain, you're slightly amused by the obvious bloodlust.

"Hn. If you want it done soon, you will 'ave to let me know. I won't go in blind." He warns, almost relaxing at familiar conversation.

"I wouldn't expect you to, Christophe."

He shakes his head shortly, the tone reminding him who he's talking to. None of his previous clients have tried to be so familiar, not after he killed the woman who aimed to seduce him.

"Payment." He says decidedly.

He shouldn't let himself be distracted, his conversationist isn't human. It wouldn't do to forget something like _that_.


	2. Wake Up

**I don't own South Park.**

**This is actually going by really fast. I'd thought that I would have a lot more trouble writing. I suppose it depends on the character, though? Thank you for reviewing if you did, and I'd like to ask if they seem in character? I know people change as they grow from kids to teenagers, but are they recognizably Damian and Christophe? Any help is appreciated!**

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The feeling of warmth throughout his whole body is magnificent. It really has been too long since he's had a chance to sleep properly, or even on something other than the ground. And it looks like he's found the perfect spot, he actually feels safe. Something nagged at him though, a feeling of uncertainty. Where is he? And how did he get there? He definitely can't remember. Is it even important?

Filled with almost equal amounts of annoyance and sleepy confusion, he stretches his legs. The burn of his toes pointing is a pleasure unrivalled, and he lets out a contented murmur. Mm. It's probably nothing important.

The sense of wrongness forces him to wake up.

Sighing wistfully at chances lost, he opens his eyes, now he has to get to the bottom of this. If it's enough to wake up for, it better be worth it. He growls.

Immediately, he knows that he's never been here in his life. Not even on an assignment, even if some of his clients prefer the level of opulence that the room personifies. Suddenly determined to find out exactly what is going on, Christophe sits up, mostly to get a better look. He rubs his eyes clear.

He's distracted of his perusal of the room by the fact that he's wearing unfamiliar clothes. Unfamiliar, unfitting clothes. Or should he say piece of clothing? He is only wearing pants, after all.

Irritated about being changed while he was unaware, Christophe puts it out of mind for now, he can kill whoever it was later, when he has more information. He should focus on his surroundings and start making a plan on how to leave, he doesn't see any reason to stay.

Opulence was definitely the right word to use. He congratulates himself, absently, already scanning for anything that can be used as a weapon. He doubts that they've left him a handy shovel. He smirks, amused.

Wait. Is that...? Fucking idiots. He snorts, even more amused than before.

Spotting his shovel lying on the desk, he also finds his clothes. Throwing off the covers, he slides out, reaching up as high a he can. His spine cracks, making him let out a slight purr at the sensation. Yawning, he moves to arm himself.

Actually seeing his clothes fill him with worry. They're clean, spotlessly clean. He holds up his jeans, which he only knows are his by the familiar holes in the right places. How long has he been out? That his clothes have been washed mean that it's longer than a nap.

He should probably go over what happened yesterday, to find any clue to where he is. It's a little fuzzy, though. Had he been drugged?

Stilling when his instincts tell him that something is wrong, he listens as hard as he can. Fortunately, he has good hearing, partly from training it after a job went wrong. The footsteps coming up the probable hall outside his door alert him to his capturers near arrival.

Setting the jeans down, Christophe lifts up his shovel and gets into position behind the door. Standing where he knows he'll be unseen, with his shovel ready to strike, he smirks expectantly and waits.

The door opens, and just when his abductor is distracted by scanning the room, he takes the opportunity to swing. The loud sound of metal and head meeting is soothing to him, he has heard it for years.

The teenager he struck doesn't go down, though, Christophe is a little confused. Demon, then? Nothing else he knows has so hard a head.

The demon turns.

Damian just stares at him, deadpan and judging.

What happened yesterday rushes back. It still doesn't explain why he is with Damian.

Unwilling to show his embarrassment at doing something stupid, Christophe glares, letting out a dissatisfied noise.

"Where are we, and why am I 'ere?" It's best to gloss over any mistakes he makes, even if Damian is starting to look amused.

He steps out from behind the door, closing it and leaning back. It locks them in, but he'll take that chance, incase there are other demons in the house. If nothing else, at least he knows this one.

Slightly uncomfortable by the way Damian is staring at his chest, he almost wishes that he'd had the time to get dressed. He supposes that he'd care a lot less if he knew the reason. Damian is the son of Satan, shouldn't he be used to scars? He crosses his arms, shovel pointing down.  
He still hasn't been answered, Christophe clears his throat.

Damian looks up, smirking, wearing clothing almost identical to yesterdays. Christophe supposes that the sleeping pants he's wearing are Damain's too.

"We are in one of my homes, I hope that you will show some courtesy." He drawls.

"That doesn't answer my other question." And why do I feel so comfortable with him? He needs to know what happened yesterday, trust doesn't develop that quickly unless it's forced to.

Shaking his head, Christophe abandons finding an answer for that, when Damian makes it obvious that he's not going to talk.

"Nevermind that then. What 'appened yesterday?"

"You don't remember?" Damian asks, cocking his head to the left.

"Non." He finds that it's best to keep it simple with Damian. Less chance of him twisting his words.

"What do you remember? I can go over what happened after that."

Annoyed that this is taking so long, he lets his tone make that clear, "I remember deciding on 'ow much money you would be paying me. And then you left and restarted time, I finished killing who I was supposed to and...?" The end of his sentence comes out uncertainly. He can't remember what happened after that. He looks at Damian suspiciously, is it his fault?

Non, his gut tells him, it was something else. Christophe is used to trusting his instincts, they don't usually lead him wrong. But, they do say that there is a first time for everything. He will stay suspicious, even as he trusts as much as he is able.

"One of the group that I hired you to kill noticed that I met with you. They have been trying to overthrow me, seeing as my ascension is nearing. They thought that you were a lover or someone I was courting. They thought that by killing you they would destroy my morale." Finally looking serious, Damian sounds highly annoyed by this.

"That doesn't explain what 'appened, or even why I am 'ere. Most demons are weak." Christophe answers, after taking a moment to think.

"They are trying to overthrow me. And, it's something I'm worried about enough to hire a professional for, instead of just picking them off as they attempt it. I could do it, obviously, they aren't on my level and never will be, but it is an annoyance. They are not as weak as the bottom feeders you are used to." Damian looks annoyed that he would have thought anything less. It amuses him.

"And, what? They came and left me on the edge of death?" He's certain that he could kill any of these so called 'powerful demons'.

"No, you killed them." He gets a smirk for his troubles, Damian looking almost proud. "But, the ones sent weren't the leaders, or even from the middle. They sent some of the weakest, thinking that you were a normal human I'd taken a liking to."

"Why would they think that, anyway?" He's slightly distracted by that, has been since it was first brought up.

"You're exactly my type, Christophe." The words are almost purred, Damian pulling a mock seductive expression. He reaches out as if to stroke Christophe's cheek.

Slightly annoyed as he leans to the side, he wonders if that's anything close to the truth. He knows all about misdirection. Something to think about, for sure.

"The truth?"

"I'm the Son of Satan, my father has been whining about consorts for months, you are an attractive human, I don't usually hang around them. It's easy to draw that conclusion." Damian waved a dismissive hand, evidently already over it.

"Hm." He agrees that it doesn't matter much. It may actually come in handy in future plans. "Why am I 'ere if I killed them?"

He's exasperated by all the squirming, he asked this at the start of the conversation. He is going to get his answer, now.

"I brought you here incase the higher demons sent anybody more powerful after you. The wards will make them unable to find us, and it will give you time to plan your move. I also put a ward on you, which I explained and you agreed to last night. It may be the cause of your memory problems."

Damian relaxes, and Christophe wonders when he tensed. Was it during the talk of consorts?

"What does the ward do?" He really needs information, he hates being blind.

"It makes magic unable to find you. You can be tracked by normal methods, but anything supernatural is out." Is that it...? With the way he's been avoiding the truth, Christophe had thought it was something horrible.

"It also make you unable to hide from me." Damian looks uncomfortable, like he knows what the reaction to his words will be.

Christophe's hand spasms on the shovel, and he almost lashes out on an automatic reaction. Seeing as it done him no good before, he refrains. This is the last time he listens to his fucking gut!

"And I agreed to this?" He speaks softly, dangerously.

"You did." Still looking wary, Damian explains. "I showed you the profiles I'd made of the leaders, and you knew that I can easily take it off when we're done. In fact, you put it in our contract."

"Why was it put on in the first place?" Despite himself, Christophe finds himself relaxing. If he says he'll take it off, and if it was put in the contract...

He can always refuse to kill them if the antichrist looks to be going back on his word. He doesn't like this, though.

"One of the leaders is a tracker. Half hellhound, so he's one of the best in the worlds. I thought it would be best and after I explained, you agreed."

Letting his hands fall to his sides, shovel meeting wooden flooring with a bang, Christophe sighs, irked by the messes he gets himself into.

"Whatever. I want to see these profiles." He should get this done as quickly as possible, letting someone have something over him is unbearable.

"You can do that right now, I came to get you for breakfast." Damian smiles, and Christophe wonders how the fuck someone like that is the antichrist.

He's hiring someone to kill for him, and that's something, at least.

"Oui. Lead the way." He steps back, leaving the door free for Damian to do as he said, and follows when he does.

His life's so weird, sometimes. Breakfast with the fucking antichrist, Christophe shakes his head.


	3. Breakfast

**I don't own South Park.**

**I'm getting kind of distracted by other things, so there will probably be a while between updates.**

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Breakfast with the antichrist is almost exactly what he'd been expecting it to be after meeting him. The room screamed cliche goth and money. The only furniture being the long, long table in the middle of the room, surrounded by plush chairs and covered with a shimmering black cloth. It seems too much trouble for a safe house, somewhere no one is supposed to know about, let alone inhabit. But Damian is like that, he supposes.

Still, he feels it should be mentioned, "No one else is going to be 'ere, are they?"

"No, why?" He sounds slightly bored, already beginning to look over the multitude of plates, each filled with food. Which brings up another question.

"No reason." He doubts the antichrist cooks, no matter how little similarities there are between the rumours and Damian. Might as well ask. "Did you cook?"

"Of course not," Damian scoffs. "Why would I go and do something like that?"

A little annoyed by the way his valid concern is dismissed, Christophe snaps out, "Exactly 'ow many people know of my location, then?"

"No one, like I said before."

He shoots Damian a look, an 'are you really this stupid?' look. He hopes it conveys his disappointment in the demon's intelligence.

"If you 'ad someone cook, they obviously know I'm 'ere." Christophe explains after a short pause of Damian not seeming to get it.

"I didn't tell them you were here. Obviously." Damian finally looks away from the food, crossing his arms in the process.

Is he being mocked? By this idiot?

He grits his teeth and wonders how the fuck he ever thought that staying with Damian was a good idea. He'll probably get them both killed. He should try to get this over with quickly.

Finally seeming finished with his perusal of the food, Damian turns to face him.

"Nothing's poisoned." Damian nods to the chairs. "Let's eat."

Wait... was he actually checking for poison?

A little disconcerted by this, as from what he'd seen Damian was fairly carefree, he sits quietly. Lost in thoughts of how he could have missed such a big part of someone's personality, he doesn't notice Damian watching him intently.

"Eat." Damian commands. And it is a command, his manner leaves little doubt to that.

Strangely reminded of the personality switch that occurred when Damian first appeared, he picks up the cutlery warily.

Starting to pick at the food on his plate, Christophe wonders about how safe he'll really be here, if his host is really so unstable.

Hm. He's has unstable employers before, it's actually pretty common. Sane people rarely need a hired killer. Still though, none of them were the antichrist, none of them really had the power to do anything to him should he refuse something. However carefree Damian appears, he should keep his title in mind.

Feeling a little more sure now that he has decided how to handle Damian, Christophe starts to eat.

And speeds up. Abandoning any pretense at table manners, not that he used them to begin with, Christophe shovels the eggs into his mouth. He's surprised at how hungry he is, though he supposes he shouldn't be, if he's been out as long as he'd feared. The food tastes good, too.

He glares at the snicker of amusement Damian makes, trying to infuse it with scorn. Seeing as he's not going to speak with his mouth full and he's not going to stop eating, it's the best he can do.

"Enjoying it?" Speaking of table manners, Damian's are curiously proper. He wonders who taught him that, since he doesn't think anyone in Hell would place importance on it.

"Mm." He grunts, trying to relay his annoyance.

Taking the hint, it seems, Damian shuts up for the rest of the meal.

Pushing the plate back, Christophe wipes his hands on the napkin his cutlery was resting on. He sighs contentedly, leaning back in the comfortable chair, he hasn't had food like that in a long time. He's more used to take away.

Letting his gaze fall on Damian, he watches the antichrist finish eating. He really is ridiculously proper, enough so that he's sure he'd be reminded of Gregory if the differences weren't so glaringly obvious.

"Right." He's left this long enough. "Show me these profiles, then."

"So eager to be rid of me?" The demon stands, dropping the napkin he was using to clean his hands and mouth with on the plate.

"Oui." There's no need to mince words. Not when his dislike is so clear.

Damian laughs. He doesn't join in.

Eyeing him impatiently as they're still standing around the table, Christophe is about to make his demand again, when Damian moves.

He pushes the chair in and gestures to the door. "This way, we'll go to the study."

Lips and eyebrows drawn down in annoyance, he follows. Again.

He's really getting vexed by all these unknowns.


End file.
